this playground of the world, isn't it? Whom to praise, whom to blame? It is all His
play. They want an explanation, but how can you explain Him? He is brainless, nor has
He any reason. He is fooling us with little brains and reasons, but this time He won't
find me napping — 'you bet.' I have learnt a thing or two. Beyond, beyond reason and
learning and talking is the feeling, the 'Love,' the 'Beloved.' Ay, 'Sake' (Friend) fill the
cup and we will be mad. — Yours ever in madness, Vivekananda.
In a philosophical mood he spoke about the illusion of progress. He did not believe in
the possibility of transforming this earth into a heaven where misery would be totally
eliminated and happiness alone would reign in its place. True freedom and bliss could
be attained only by the individual and not by the masses as a whole. He wrote to
Goodwin on August 8, 1896: '"A good world," "a happy world," "social progress" are
equally intelligible as "hot ice," "dark light," etc. If it were good it would not be the
world. The soul foolishly thinks of manifesting the Infinite in finite matter — the
intelligence through gross particles — and at last finds out its error and tries to escape.
This going back is the beginning of religion, and its method, destruction of self, that is,
love. Not love for wife or child or anybody else, but love for everything else except
this little self. Never be deluded by the tall talk, of which you will hear a lot in
America, about "human progress" and such stuff. There is no progress without
regression.'
On November 1, 1896, in the course of a letter to Mary Hale, Swami Vivekananda
wrote from London:
'An objective heaven or millennium therefore has existence only in the fancy, but a
subjective one is already in existence. The musk-deer, after vain search for the cause of
the scent of the musk, at last will have to find it in himself.'
But Swami Vivekananda's mission to the world was not yet finished. An arduous task
was awaiting him in his beloved motherland. The Indian work had to be organized
before he could bid farewell to this earth. He left England on December 16, 1896, and
travelled overland for the port of departure at Naples.
The party headed directly for Milan, passing through Dover, Calais, and Mont Cenis.
The Swami enjoyed the railroad journey and entertained his companions, the Seviers,
with his stimulating conversation. But a part of his mind was drawn to India. He said to
the Seviers: 'Now I have but one thought, and that is India. I am looking forward to
India.' On the eve of his departure from London, an English friend had asked him,
'Swami, how will you like your motherland after three years' experience in the
luxurious and powerful West?' His significant reply was: 'India I loved before I came
away. Now the very dust of India has become holy to me, the very air is now holy to
me; it is the holy land, the place of pilgrimage.' Often the Swami said that the West
was the karma-bhumi, the land of action, where through selfless work a man purified
his heart; and India was the punya-bhumi, the land of holiness, where the pure in heart